


Raw

by Antigone_Sycamore



Series: I who dreamed wildly and madly [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x4, Angst, Brienne is a goddess, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Jaime staring at Brienne is everything, Jaime's POV, Missing Scene, Season 8, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Sycamore/pseuds/Antigone_Sycamore
Summary: And he couldn't stop staring at her.





	Raw

**Author's Note:**

> So. 
> 
> I was trying to work on my dialogue. And then this happened. Shameless and utter smut without much to say in-between. I’m not going to apologize.

>   
>  I  
>  _When the knell rung for the dying_  
>  _soundeth for me_  
>  _and my corpse coldly is lying  
>  _ _neath the green tree_
> 
> __
> 
> II  
>  _When the turf strangers are heaping_  
>  _covers my breast_  
>  _Come not to gaze on me weeping  
>  _ _I am at rest_
> 
> III  
>  _All my life coldly and sadly_  
>  _The days have gone by_  
>  _I who dreamed wildly and madly  
>  _ _am happy to die_
> 
> IV  
>  _Long since my heart has been breaking_  
>  _Its pain is past  
>  _ _A time has been set to its aching  
>  _ _Peace comes at last._
> 
> _E.G.W. &N._

__

__

 

 

There is a certain elegance to her, he realizes belatedly, when he pushes her down on the bed. 

Beneath her bulky armor and the leather-clad cloaks, she is lean and muscular. Endless lines of creamy white skin that glows in the golden light of the fire. He watches as the muscles in her shoulders stretch beneath her skin as she moves underneath him. He can’t take his eyes off of her, is slightly taken aback as he watches her long fingers brace themselves against the bed. Her hands clench and unclench. 

He’s seen it all before, of course. A shared bath in a godforsaken place a lifetime ago. His taunt and her defiance. Had known before that she would be hard and soft in equal measure. But beneath him, in the golden light of the fire, she is suddenly larger than life itself. Not just because she is, _well_ , very tall, but because the strength and the vulnerability she carries finally break his old and undeserving heart. A goddess forged from Valyrian steel. 

He has nothing to offer to match that. 

Except for _this_. He can give her this. 

He runs the fingers of his good hand down her breast, across her abdomen. Stretches it across her chest as he watches the muscles beneath her skin dance in the light of the fire. Feels her ribcage expand with every shaky inhale. Her blue eyes are wide and dark. Blond lashes fluttering against flushed cheekbones as her hips buck up against his. Every bone and every muscles of hers has become alive underneath him. He’d told her once he’d be strong enough to overpower her, hold her down, tear off her clothes. He isn’t so sure that is true now. Isn’t sure it has been true then.

Brienne must follow his train of thought because she suddenly pushes at his chest, palms flat against his sternum. A heated attempt to escape his scrutiny. But her lips follow her hands and she’s kissing him again. Hot and tender and messy. 

He runs his hand down her shoulder. Traces the tight stretch of her shoulder blades with his thumb, feels her muscles move and vibrate beneath her soft skin with every movement. He wants to look at her again. He wants to look at her forever. Wants to take it all in. Remember everything about her while he can hold onto it. 

But Brienne gets bolder by the minute. He might have initiated this with his inexcusable attempt at flirtation, but Brienne is the one who took charge. As it’s always been. Without waring or premonition the back of her hand rubs against his still clothed crotch. 

He breaks their kiss in a hiss. Torn somewhere between pain and pleasure.

“Careful,” he rasps against her flushed cheek. Voice strained but eager to break the silence.

Beneath him, Brienne’s body squirms. Breath swallow but still measured. She flashes him a look, pupils blown wide.

“I told you-,” she repeats her earlier words at him, even more breathy now. But he cuts her off, yet again, when he drags his winter-dry lips down her neck. Runs his tongue across the three long white lines that stretch down her neck and over her clavicle. Long ago torn skin. A permanent memento to his worst deeds. And to his best. Bear pits and sapphires. All of it irreconcilable until this very moment.

Suddenly they are not a contradiction anymore.

Her power and her vulnerability. Her rawness and her elegance. His vice and his virtue. 

He wants to tell her as much. Wants to tell her what she is to him. Wants to tell her that he knows he won’t be able to be at peace. Neither of them will. The world will come crashing back in much too soon. His past and her responsibilities. They are both doomed, even if he wants it to be different-

Brienne takes hold of his face then. Both of her hands on his cheeks. She holds him still for a moment. Her lips only inches away from his own as her eyes search his face.

“Jaime,” she says, a strained edge to his name on her lips, “I know who you are.”

He wants to object. Slightly taken aback that she should be able to read him so easily. That she should be able to absolve him so easily. 

But Brienne claims his lips again and his objection dies in his throat. She’s always been braver than him. And more stubborn. She might be a maid but she certainly is no fool.

Jaime breaks their kiss again. Licks at the low dip between her clavicles. Purple bruises and white scars on either side of his lips. He’s been meaning to do that for a long time. Has been transfixed by the smooth creamy skin since she’s taken off her shirt in the golden light of the fire. 

Brienne runs his hands down his back. Presses firmly at his shoulder blades and over his arse. No trace of her initial shyness or caution anymore. She grabs at him and pushes him up against her hips. A low grown escapes his lips. Her skin is hot against his mouth but there is still too much of a barrier between them. Jaime feels the need burn in his whole body. Hot and low. 

He was wrong yet again. He can’t even give her this. He needs this as much as she does. Maybe even more. _Certainly_ even more. He wants to bury himself inside of her. Take refuge from the world, if only for a moment. The desire for the comfort of her body still somewhat strange and foreign in his loins.

Brienne tugs at his trousers. Pushes them down over his hips and he lifts himself up on his elbows to give her more space. The stump on his right side grazes her disheveled hair, the golden hand long discarded under a pile of cloth. They both bear the marks of their shared journey. Torn skin and cut limbs. Hotly burning desire born form searing pain and irretrievable losses. Jaime wouldn’t have it any other way.

He isn’t paying attention for a moment, mourning his long ago lost hand – wishes he could run his fingers through her hair properly, feel the golden strands between his fingertips – when Brienne suddenly pushes herself up and flips them both in one fluid motion. 

She straddles his hips and a low grumble escapes his throat. She raises an eyebrow at him. His strained cock an unmistakable sign for his burning need between the two of them. He watches her flush, yet again, from her burning cheeks all the way down to her creamy chest. Blotchy red skin over her round breasts. His unmaimed hand comes up on his own accord to run his thumb over her hard nipple. She hisses at him through gritted teeth, head falling back. A sound torn between warning and encouragement. He wants to hear it again, and again, and again-

She’s even more beautiful from this angle. Flat stomach and small round breasts rising above him. The muscles in her endless legs are tight and unyielding on either side of his body. He wants to tell her as much but is distracted when she lifts herself up to struggle out of her own breeches. 

He isn’t sure he would be able to form a coherent sentence anyway when Brienne’s palm curls itself around his cock. Holds it still for a few seconds before she runs it down his whole length. He wants to keep looking at her, really _really_ wants to – flushed cheeks and slightly parted swollen lips, the same suborn determination in her eyes they have when she fights – but the sudden motion makes the muscles in his stomach clench, her movements raw and unrelenting above him, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut in a low moan.

Brienne wastes no time, though. He barely has a chance to accommodate to the sensation when she sinks down on him, all the way, in one fluid motion. Palms braced against his chest. His exposed nerves are taunt beyond breaking point and his good hand takes hold of her hip to steady himself. If she doesn’t slow down, he’s going to embarrass himself. 

He rasps her name. Voice strained and low. To his immense relief the new sensation does give her some pause. Her body goes completely still above him. He watches as she drags in a shuddering breath. And then another one. And another one. Dark blue eyes unblinking and brows furrowed in almost-shock and confusion. A maiden goddess forged form Valyerian steel. 

He fails to hide the smile spreading across his lips at the thought. She immediately admonishes him with one raised eyebrow and his old and wasted heart painfully clenches in his chest. He’s unworthy in every conceivable way. There is no doubt about that. 

And yet, he reaches out again with his good hand. Too far gone to dwell on their many contradictions, he draws her confused face down to his to kiss her again properly. 

“You’re so good,” he mumbles in-between kisses, his breath hot on her lips before he claims her mouth again. She exhales slowly through her nose without breaking the kiss and he feels her whole body shudder- Brienne lifts herself up again. Then she starts to move. 

Slowly at first, indiscernible almost. Jaw clenched tightly. His breath catches in his throat at the sight. Then her rhythm speeds up and she accommodates her hips to thrust at him properly. Her breath now shallow and even. In and out and in and out. Jaime does everything he can to match her heated pace. His brain shuts down for good and he’s surprised at himself that he still has the foresight to stroke his thumb over her clit. Again and again and again. Slow and relentless. She grits her teeth against the sensation as she adjust her body to give him better access. Her swallow breaths have transformed into low moans. Somebody is going to hear them, if she keeps this up. But Jaime doesn’t care.

He thinks, Brienne of Tarth straddling his hips, trying to find the right angle to satisfy her own burning desire, is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his entire life. The thought makes its way into his shutdown brain without his consent or his conscious doing. There is little he can do but relent control and watch her move above him in earnest. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

With his very _very_ last inch of self-control he finally presses her name out between his lips – “ _Brienne-_ ,” before he forcefully shoves at her. He sees the confusion flicker across her face when he moves to pull out of her and the shame flares hot and searing in his chest. But he won’t do that to her. Not when there is so little clarity between them. So many things unsaid. So many things undecided. 

The confusion on her face transforms into shocked fascination when he comes across her stomach with a loud shuddering moan, hips bucking up hard in pursuit of her warm body. She watches him intently and he suddenly feels self-aware. 

He forces himself to push through the haziness, to focus on the task at hand when his thumb returns to her clit. He strokes up and down her swollen lips, runs his fingers over the tight bundle of nerves with blunt pressure. Her body complies in immediate abandon, hips bucking against his finger yet again as she loudly and breathlessly rasps his name.

“ _Jaime, Jaime, Jaime-_ ”

Someone is definitely going to hear them now. 

Her breath finally _finally_ catches when he sinks two of his fingers inside her. He feels her muscles clench around him. Her hand gripping at his wrist too tight in an attempt to still his unyielding motions. But she doesn’t push it away. Merely holds it in place. Knuckles stretching white over her clenched fist. Her whole body convulses above him and Jaime has to correct himself yet again.

Brienne of Tarth shuddering through orgasm is the most beautiful thing he has seen in his entire life.

For a few moments, every muscle in her lean body is taunt in rigid suspense. Her face is hot and flushed, a shimmer of sweat across her still tightly furrowed brows. Swollen lips slightly parted as she takes one last thrust against his hips with a loud cry. 

Afterwards, when her body tumbles over onto his equally heaving chest, she buries her face in his neck. The vulnerability of the gesture takes him by surprise. Her long fingers spread across his cheek as she presses her face into the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder. "Say something nice," he mumbles into her hair, eager to break the silence and she snorts against his neck. And Jaime is grateful, _oh_ so grateful. He strokes his good hand down the small of her back and prays that tomorrow might never dawn on Winterfell.

**Author's Note:**

> Totally _not_ inspired by a compilation of interview clips of Nikolaj Coster-Waldau staring at Gwendoline Christie. Not going to apologize for that either. I mean, have you seen her? She really _is_ a goddess.


End file.
